


fathers, be good

by riahk



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Childbirth, Children, Established Relationship, F/M, Fatherhood, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, dorosylvix with focus on sylvix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29168430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riahk/pseuds/riahk
Summary: “If you knew the...uncertaintywould stress you out this much, why did you agree to the plan in the first place?”As he says it he smiles, resisting the urge to laugh. No matter how many times it comes up, no matter how on-board all relevant parties were at the time, explaining the whole concept always sounds so childish. No pun intended. Sylvain continues: “Don’t tell me you were so enamored by another opportunity to one-up me that the gravity of the task slipped your mind?”Felix’s nose scrunches in embarrassment, because the assessment is spot-on. “I… may have been possessed by the spirit of competition at the time. It may have clouded my judgment,” he admits.Or: polyamory makes having children just the tiniest bit complicated. But then again, Sylvain and Felix always have to make things more difficult than they need to be.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Kudos: 24





	fathers, be good

**Author's Note:**

> What's up! To no one's surprise, I'm out here writing more content for my OT3! This is a quick little piece because I couldn't stop thinking about how fictional characters would handle becoming parents. I was also skiing with my dad a couple weekends ago and it got me thinking about fatherhood in general so. Here we are. I dedicate this to all the good fathers out there. :)

_Gautier Region, 9th of the Pegasus Moon_

Faerghus is a superstitious country, even after it’s swept with flurries of reform following the war. This is especially true in the frozen wastes of the far north, where snowed-in mountain passes and consuming darkness make the region both inhospitable and nigh-unreachable for three months of deep winter. During this grim season, the outside world is practically reduced to myth, and its people are left only with centuries of tradition to huddle around. Despite the efforts of Fódlan’s latest unifiers — and they do work tirelessly — cultural change is as slow as the solstice night is long, and old customs die hard.

Luckily, not all of those ancient beliefs are so bad to keep around. A birth during the winter, for example, is still considered a good omen, a ray of hope when the harsh landscape seems to deny all life. These fair fortunes are said to grow even more auspicious when coinciding with a blizzard, signaling a tenacious soul. Such a storm happens to be raging today: a persistent army of ice and wind assaults the unyielding gates of Castle Gautier. Within its walls, another kind of mayhem has taken hold.

Officially, the young margrave and his family — the newest wardens of the northern border — are taking a break from their peace talks with Sreng to welcome a child into the world today. In practice, the retinue of midwives and house staff have been informed that the situation is slightly more complicated than that.

While most of the action is centered in the master bedroom, two prominent figures wait in the surrounding hall, as observed by one curious young nurse-in-training who has volunteered to check on the two men anxiously flitting around the corridor. One she knows well enough: Margrave Sylvain Jose Gautier wears a worn-down version of his usual smile as she approaches. The other is less familiar, though she understands that Felix Hugo Fraldarius is an old friend of the family. Her gaze travels between them, a puzzled look on her face. A question burns the tip of her tongue. "Forgive me for asking, but I have to know… which of you is the father?"

Felix looks nervously at the floor. Sylvain’s laugh betrays equally frayed nerves, and he takes a moment to answer. "Funny story," he begins, his tone much more casual than his title would suggest. "We aren't actually sure. Figured the birth would make it obvious."

"It's probably his," Felix says, motioning to the other man, still eyeing the carpet. "Expect red hair."

Sylvain nudges his shoulder playfully. "And if they come out with a frown and a judgmental look in their eyes, they're most likely a Fraldarius," he jokes. "To eliminate any further doubt, give them a sword and gauge the reaction."

"For goodness' sake," Felix groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and fixing Sylvain with a glare. "You're being such an ass."

"See? Keep an eye out for that scowl," Sylvain quips, pointing a finger dangerously close to Felix's flashing teeth.

Bored, tired eyes witness their exchange. "Neither of you have ever seen a baby, have you?" the attendant asks, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. Lady Gautier had warned against getting too engaged in conversation with her husband and her… well, she hadn't been particularly clear on the nature of her relationship with Mister Fraldarius. She'd heard rumors, ones she hadn't quite believed until now, and the more she sees the margrave stealing adoring glances at his childhood friend the less she wants to know, honestly. There are more important matters holding her attention.

So she tries to ignore the way Sylvain is lavishing that soft fondness on his esteemed guest right now. "I technically saw Felix when he was a baby," he says with a gentle smile. "I was pretty young, I suppose, so the memory is fuzzy, but I at least remember he was cute as a button. Still is, don't you think?"

"I—"

Before she can respond to the irrelevant question, a loud scream rings through the hallway, muffled through the thick wood of the walls but still exuding urgency. Felix's whole body tenses visibly at the sound, an apprehension slightly lessened by Sylvain's hand slipping smoothly, instinctively into his. "I need to head back," the nurse tells them, turning toward the source. "We'll fetch you when it's done," she adds clinically as her shoes thud briskly along the floor.

Their fingers stay intertwined and more pained yells spill from the bedroom. Sylvain squeezes Felix's palm, his smile finally fading. "You're so sure it's mine, huh?" he asks, his voice dark and laced with concern, though it's unclear for whom. "Or is that just what you want?"

"Don't read so much into it," Felix mumbles.

"You're an open book. I can't resist."

Felix turns to him, stares wordlessly up into a sea of faded umber, steady pools he can easily get lost in. He'll gladly let Sylvain study his face, will happily allow silent captivation; the less he has to talk, or engage in any kind of deep discussion, the better. Though it's only a matter of time before the momentary serenity dries up and Sylvain makes his conclusions known.

"Here, take a seat," he finally says, tugging Felix's arm over toward the long, intricately carved mahogany bench hugging the wall. Felix follows, lowering to the cushioned wood, expecting Sylvain to settle beside him; instead the other man kneels in front, taking both of Felix's hands in his and resolutely locking their eyes again. "Regardless of who that kid ends up looking like, Felix… you're their father. You understand that, right?"

He swallows. “Yes. Of course,” he replies quietly, thumbs circling restlessly along Sylvain’s knuckles. “But there’s being a father, and then being a _father_ , you know?” He blinks as he hears himself, shaking his head in frustration. “Fuck. I sound ridiculous.”

Sylvain chuckles. “A little bit. But I’m not going to pretend there isn’t a difference, no matter how minimal.”

“You deserve it more,” Felix says, chewing his bottom lip.

Anger sparks like a wildfire in Sylvain’s eyes, and his next words practically come out as a growl. “Don’t you dare say that again, Fe.”

The intensity takes Felix aback. “Alright. I’m sorry. I won’t,” he apologizes, regaining his composure. “But my point is this: you haven’t been able to stop talking about becoming a father for months,” he says, his lips curving slightly at the memory of Sylvain’s happy marches around the castle grounds, his proud proclamations and endless doting on the mother-to-be. Well, the latter behavior was common even before the pregnancy, but that's beside the point. Felix sighs. “It still hasn’t sunk in for me, yet.”

Sylvain tucks away a strand of Felix’s hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “I think it very clearly is. I think I’m witnessing it happen right now,” he observes. His head tilts curiously. “But if you knew the prospect of—” He stops himself, hesitating with the wording. He was about to say ‘being first’, but the phrase has an odd ring to it. “If you knew the... _uncertainty_ would stress you out this much, why did you agree to the plan in the first place?”

As he says it he smiles, resisting the urge to laugh. No matter how many times it comes up, no matter how on-board all relevant parties were at the time, explaining the whole concept always sounds so childish. No pun intended. Sylvain continues: “Don’t tell me you were so enamored by another opportunity to one-up me that the gravity of the task slipped your mind?”

Felix’s nose scrunches in embarrassment, because the assessment is spot-on. “I… may have been possessed by the spirit of competition at the time. It may have clouded my judgment,” he admits. “I wish it didn’t terrify me so much. There’s been plenty of time to stop being afraid.” His eyes meet Sylvain’s with something resembling envy. “And I don’t understand how you can be so calm right now.”

“Come on, Felix,” Sylvain chides gently, feigning hurt. “You know me better than that.” He draws Felix’s hand to his chest and the rest of Felix naturally follows, their faces hovering close as Sylvain’s voice drops low, his breath gracing the sharp curve of Felix's cheekbone. “Do you feel that? How fast my heart is beating right now?”

Sylvain’s pulse is indeed pumping quickly, a bit erratically, and Felix presses his palm more firmly into the cloth of Sylvain’s blouse, enjoying the feeling. It calms his own elevated rhythm. “Good to know,” he says. His gaze scans down the hall, settling in the direction of the bedroom. “If Dorothea saw us agonizing like this, she’d call us both pathetic.”

The other man turns to follow his eyes. “Maybe,” he says wistfully. “I think she would understand our woes, at least, even whilst cursing us in the same breath.” As if on cue, another aggravated yell makes him jump, his face blanching as he turns back to face Felix. “Hearing that certainly doesn’t help with my nerves, though!” The screams continue, and they both exchange uneasy glances. “I suppose that’s why she’s in there, and we’re out here,” Sylvain jokes, trying everything in his limited power to lighten the mood.

But Dorothea’s cries and increasingly persistent groans thunder down the hall, this time accompanied by a stern command to push. They listen silently, Felix orienting unconsciously toward the sound, his lips pursed and anxious sweat beading on his temple.

“Felix.” Sylvain’s whisper is near-inaudible over the echoing cacophony.

But he manages to jerk back, looking at Sylvain. “Yes?”

“You’re ready for this,” Sylvain assures him, a supportive smile crinkling the edges of his kind, beautiful eyes. Then he moves in, closing the distance between them and capturing Felix’s lips in a needy, arresting kiss. Felix grunts in surprise but soon leans hungrily into the gesture, hands fluttering along Sylvain’s neck and tangling into his perpetually-messy hair. Sylvain maintains the contact as he rises to his feet, his warm torso looming over Felix’s seated form as he braces a hand against the wall. Like all the other times he’s kissed Sylvain, Felix’s chest clenches tight and the whole world melts away for one singular, all-consuming moment.

As they part, Felix cups Sylvain’s jaw delicately in his hand, and he realizes the yells have gone quiet. In its place is the sound of a baby crying. “ _We’re_ ready for this,” Felix says, draping his arms over Sylvain’s shoulders as he makes his way to a stand too.

Footsteps and a familiar voice break them out of their trance. “Sorry to interrupt,” the woman from earlier starts, motioning tentatively between the two of them. “One of you is officially a father,” she says.

Sylvain takes an excited step forward, his already dreamy mood elevating even higher. “Boy or girl?” he asks frantically.

She motions down the hall with a smirk. “The margravine wants to tell you herself.” Sylvain and Felix exchange one final determined glance before following silently, the air thick with anticipation.

The bedroom is near unrecognizable save for the bed, hectic and full of people running back and forth, chattering commands to each other; a partition has been set up to create an impromptu physician's station. Numerous torches line the walls to keep the room at a comfortable temperature. One of the midwives emerges from behind the curtain as Sylvain and Felix enter, a basketful of gauze and other supplies in her arms as she approaches the bed. There, bundled in sheets and sprawled across a mountain of pillows is Dorothea, her chest gently rising and falling as an attendant dabs her face with a damp cloth.

"Sylvain!" she calls, her voice tired but managing to harmonize with pangs of relief as she spots her husband first, waving her slender hand limply in the air. He crosses the room and is at her side in an instant, pressing a knee into the mattress as he leans over and plants an eager kiss to her temple. "Felix," she sighs softly, trembling fingers groping at nothing as the other man makes a slower, more hesitant approach.

"You look beautiful," Sylvain tells her, running a hand over her glistening forehead and through her hair. Dorothea narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"Don't lie to me in front of the baby," she says sardonically.

"I'm serious," Sylvain insists. "You're glowing." Dorothea hums tiredly and takes his hand, eyes meeting Felix's dazed countenance knowingly as he and Sylvain both follow her gaze down to the small tent of blankets draped over her upper half. Nestled between the linen and Dorothea's bare chest is the smallest human any of them has ever seen: a soft, tiny bundle of round flesh and pudgy limbs clinging to her warmth. "Oh, they look beautiful, too," Sylvain whispers, drawing even closer to the both of them, beginning to casually kick off his shoes.

" _She_ looks beautiful," Dorothea specifies, running her fingers delicately over the newborn's nearly-bare head. Sylvain wastes no time crawling in to join them; Dorothea focuses her attention on Felix, who is tentatively seated at the very edge of the bed. "We have a daughter."

Tears are budding at the edges of Sylvain's eyes. "And which of us gets to name her?" he asks, hooking his chin into the crook of Dorothea's neck as he admires the child still lying serenely against her mother, stomach and forehead pressed down as her miniscule body curls inward. It is a natural question, with a second subtler inquiry woven in: _is she Sylvain's or Felix's?_

Dorothea takes a moment answering, as if determining the exact parentage of her daughter will break the serene spell currently cast on the room. "Felix," she says, not an answer but a request, since the man she's addressing is still stewing in aloofness. "Get over here," Dorothea commands firmly, patting the empty space opposite Sylvain. Felix pushes back to a stand and makes for the other side of the bed; Dorothea wraps an arm around him as he arrives, unable to take his eyes off the infant. "I think she's yours," she whispers.

"She's so small," Felix replies softly, noting the way she can barely move her head. Perfectly helpless. "How can you tell?"

"I think she's right," Sylvain chimes in, ignoring Felix’s uncertainty.

"It's just a feeling," Dorothea adds. "Either way, she needs a name."

One of the nurses pops her head in, a tired smile on her face as she addresses the margravine. "How are we doing over here? Are we ready to have the doctor perform a quick examination and get her swaddled for you?"

"Sounds good," Dorothea agrees, though she still releases an involuntary whine when the child is removed from the bed and swiftly carried behind the curtain. She watches them leave with a pained expression, which turns to exasperation when she catches Felix frowning at Sylvain across the bed. “Could you two not make this weird? I’m too exhausted for your antics today.”

Felix speaks up, still stuck on the earlier point. “It just seems a bit early to know—”

“The head midwife has delivered two generations of margraves, Felix,” Dorothea interrupts. “She’s already informed me she doesn’t think the baby is a Gautier.” His mouth twists shut, eyes restlessly floating around the room until Dorothea takes his cheek in her hand and turns him to face her. “It’s a lot, I know,” she purrs softly, an understanding and gentleness in her tone that's always signalled to Felix that she will make an excellent mother. “It was going to be a lot no matter the outcome.”

His forehead collapses against hers, holds there for a moment before he sinks further down to rest against her shoulder, arms squeezing her tightly. Dorothea feels a slow trickle of tears against her bare skin, and she hugs Felix back as best she can in her current drained state. Sylvain cradles her from the other side, his lips at her ear. “I love you,” he mumbles, a reminder she didn’t realize she needed until now, as her own face scrunches with the threat of crying.

She manages to hold it together and the nurse returns, a small bundle of blue cloth in her arms, a wrinkled face peeking out from the folds. “Here she is.” The trio on the bed, similarly wound together, unravels and watches as the child is offered to her mother first. Dorothea shakes her head, nudging Felix wordlessly; there is an exchange of silent protest met with encouragement before he nervously accepts the baby, holding her in his arms like she is the most precious thing on the planet. Right now, she may as well be.

“Are we still going with the name we discussed?” Dorothea asks.

“Yes,” Felix replies, finally finding his confidence.

“Go on, then,” she urges. “Introduce her to us.”

Several members of the staff have their eyes on them, now. Felix swallows his remaining shyness and meets Sylvain’s expectant gaze. His lips move slowly, deliberately, reverently. “Say hello to Guinevere Josephine Fraldarius,” he says, tilting his chin back down to finally get one good, long look at his daughter’s face. If he squints, he thinks he can see the resemblance.

“Gwen for short,” Dorothea adds with a sly smile.

“Or Winnie,” Sylvain suggests, clearly pleased with the choice.

“Sure, whatever,” Felix mutters, waving them both off dismissively. It’s not for lack of affection, because he has plenty of that; Sylvain and Dorothea are the two people he has allowed his life to revolve around, to have every part of him. But the young soul resting in his arms, a sea of potential resting beneath her fresh skin, is promising to become a third. Felix doesn't have the energy to focus on anything else right now.

Dorothea gives his cheek a satisfied peck, nuzzling his shoulder. “I hope you enjoyed that last trip of yours, Felix. You won’t be taking another one for a long while,” she teases, though Felix does not fail to catch the solemn warning she’s elegantly woven into her words, an implicit promise he cannot break.

And why would he want to? If there is any piece of him that still longs to wander, it is nothing he can’t put to bed as easily as one would a child. If there is any uncertainty about his ability to tackle the monumental role placed upon his shoulders, of whether or not he is deserving — and there is plenty, enough to form a whole murky ocean of unknown waters to sail — it is nothing he can’t brave alongside his two partners. Their hands rest faithfully in his like compasses that, rather than pointing north, guide him toward all that is good.

And they have every intention of being good.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! Check me out on twitter if you'd like: @riahk


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